“Claire.” He stopped in the doorway, watched her for some acknowledgment of his presence, but she said nothing, just sat there. “Claire, he’s gone. You’re okay.”
Still nothing.
“All right, get up. You need to call the police.”
At that, her gaze finally shot to him. The stunned look on her face, the vulnerable one that had started to rip his heart out, was replaced by sheer indignation.
Good. He’d made her mad, stopped her from panicking. It was what he’d been aiming for, even if it meant she thought he was a jerk now because of it.
She reached for a cell phone on the bedside table. Nate noted her hands were shaking. That would likely continue for the next little while.
“Hi, this is Claire Phillips. Someone broke into my apartment.”
Claire stood frozen in her living room, eyes glued to the view outside her window. It had seemed the only safe spot to look at, since her home was in shambles. The police were on their way, so for now all there was to do was wait.
She didn’t know which was scarier—the fact that there had been an intruder in her home, or the fact that he had wreaked all this destruction while she’d been asleep and unaware, only waking up moments before the man actually entered her bedroom. The thought of someone going through her paint supplies, rifling through her stack of finished paintings...it was worse than just an invasion of privacy, more than vandalism.
“Are you okay?”
The solid but quiet voice of her rescuer was familiar, and not just from tonight. Claire’s frowned as she looked up at him. Was it possible she knew him from somewhere other than the coffee shop?
To answer his question, she shook her head. No. She wasn’t okay. But she didn’t want to talk about that right now. “I know you,” she said, studying his face as she took a step closer to him. “Where do I know you from? You aren’t from Treasure Point.”
“No,” he admitted. “I’m not.”
“You’re not denying that I recognize you from somewhere, though.”
He shook his head slightly, then stilled, head tilted to the side just a little, as he studied her in return. “I recognized you right away, but then again, you’ve changed less since college than I have.”
“College...” she mumbled.
As though she’d summoned the memories up, a collage of snapshots from her college life played through her mind. She’d left Treasure Point for college, gone to Savannah to chase her big-city dreams just like any stereotypical small-town seventeen-year-old. She’d studied well, worked hard to keep her GPA up, but she’d also had fun with her group of friends. Kayaking near Little Tybee Island, climbing at the rock gym in Savannah... There had been a large group of them, but the three she’d spent the most time with were her roommate, Katie Dunbar, her boyfriend at the time, Justin Colton...
And the man she now recognized as the one standing in front of her. Nate Torres.
“Nate.” She’d never thought she’d see him again, not after their group’s friendship had fizzled after Justin had left for Atlanta to get his master’s. The two of them had tried dating long-distance, but Justin had not been cut out for a committed relationship. At least, not with her. Claire had found that out the hard way when she’d shown up in Atlanta to surprise him one weekend and found that he was out with another woman. He’d apologized and promised that it was an isolated mistake—that he’d never do it again. Like the naive girl she was then, Claire had believed he meant it. Maybe he had. But their relationship had never been the same and then...then the accident had happened.
Dating Justin had been a risk in more than one way. A risk taken lightly that had ended badly.
Claire had learned her lesson, had matured past the attraction to charming bad boys since then. What she was looking for now was more along the lines of a steady, predictable man with a stable job. Someone mature, who realized that adventures were for kids, and adults had to settle down. Be dependable. Stay committed.
Though to be fair, a sensible, unadventurous guy wouldn’t have been any use to her tonight. If someone steady and unexcitable had seen her getting attacked in the street, he’d have called the police or gone for help. He never would have directly charged her attacker to force him to release her. And breaking into her apartment to protect her from a dangerous intruder? Forget about it. For better or for worse, Nate was exactly what she’d needed tonight, and she was grateful that he’d been there for her—not just once, but twice.
And if he happened to look particularly handsome and heroic just now, she was just going to have to ignore it. Never again was she going to let attraction overpower her good sense.
Nate was the epitome of everything she’d never fall for again. But while he was the last man on earth she’d get involved with, he was someone she trusted.
Claire swallowed hard. “Nate,” she repeated. “Do you want to tell me what you’re doing in Treasure Point?”
“I’m here as a photographer.”
“You’re a photographer now?”
“It’s one of the things I do, yes.”
“And the others? Legal? Not legal?”
“Claire, you can trust me.”
“Oddly enough, I know that. But I also know that it’s too much of a coincidence that someone tried to kill me right after you came to town—and that you just happened to be in the right position to save me. Twice. There’s something more going on here, isn’t there?”
He didn’t seem to see those words coming, and for a minute he didn’t say anything, just stood there. Still and speechless.
“Yes, there’s more going on here. But as for who wants you dead... I don’t know why anyone would be after you.”
“But I do.”
Claire swung her gaze to the door, where two uniformed officers stood. Her brother-in-law, Matt, and his friend Clay.
“What do you mean?” she asked Matt.
He pulled out his phone, tapped the screen a few times and then held it up to show her a picture.
“That’s my business card. For the shop.” Claire shook her head. “You think someone wanted me dead because...”
“Wait, I wasn’t done.” Another few taps. He held up the phone again. “This is the back of the same business card.”
Scrawled on the plain white card stock in a handwriting that she didn’t recognize were two words. “What do these mean to you?”
Ocean Lights.
“It’s the painting I just finished last week.”
“What was it of, Claire?”
“Just...just landscape, like all my paintings. You think that’s why someone wants me dead? That doesn’t make any sense. It’s a painting, Matt, not anything important.” The words felt multilayered to Claire, like a betrayal of her true self even as they came out of her mouth. She’d like to think her paintings did have meaning, but for now they were a hobby. The coffee shop was her real business. And besides, what she’d really meant was that her paintings weren’t anything to kill over.
That much she was sure of.
“This business card was found in the hands of a woman who was murdered here in Treasure Point earlier this evening.”
The thought of a murder was horrifying—and more horrifying that it had been in Treasure Point. She’d heard about it on the police radio at the station,